


Golden Valley

by Toad1



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toad1/pseuds/Toad1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The Way brothers' relationship is platonic.) Party Poison and Kobra Kid visit a neutral market in while wrestling with their own demons. What strange characters and unusual shops await in Golden Valley? And what effect will a mysterious film and a surprising conflict have on the brothers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A bird twittered outside the window. Party Poison blearily opened his eyes, then propped himself up by his elbows and turned to Kobra, who was still asleep in the bed next to his. Poison pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, then dragged his backpack out from beneath the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress, and unzipped the backpack as quietly as possible. The house was silent except for the chirping birds and a crackling sound outside.  
  
Dim morning light filtered through the plaid curtains and washed over the furniture in the room: a wooden bedside table with a small lamp sat between the beds, which had white mattresses and dark green blankets, and a rustic painting of a field hung on the opposite wall. The walls were a dark earthy brown. Poison stepped off the bed and smiled to himself at the softness of the rug beneath his bare feet.  
  
After putting on a pair of jeans, slipping on his sandals, and pulling his _KEEP SMILING_ T-shirt over his head, Poison crept down the hallway and stepped into the kitchen. The kitchen was round, with wide windows that stretched over the sink and cabinets and gave a broad view of the desert and the mountains that loomed in the distance. The walls were the same dark earthy color, and the floor was made of cracked pieces of grey stone. A round table with four matching chairs sat in the middle of the room. A dusty mini-fridge sat off to the side, and a locked door led to what Poison assumed was a storage room. A bulletin board and a sun-bleached calendar with a picture of a cactus hung on the storage room door.  
  
“Good morning,” said a scratchy voice. Poison jumped and turned around to see a smiling woman standing behind him. Her dark curly hair was tied back and tucked beneath a red bandana, and she wore a scratchy green sweater over a yellow dress. Her skin was tanned and leathery, and her face was faintly lined. A chain necklace hung around her neck.  
  
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Poison said quickly. “I wasn’t snooping, I was just looking around--”  
  
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Ms. Mayweather said, still smiling. She walked past him and knelt in front of one of the cabinets. “I know how you rebel types like to get up early.”  
  
“We slept in this morning,” Poison said. “Usually we get up around six.”  
  
“Six A.M.? I never understood you morning birds. Do you want some coffee?”  
  
“You guys have coffee out here?” Poison said. “What kind is it? D’you have that acorn stuff?”  
  
“Oh, no. We have real coffee here.”  
  
“ _Real?_ ”  
  
“Well, real instant. Is that okay?”  
  
“ _Is that okay?_ ” Poison laughed. “Oh, man. That’d be great. The last time I had real coffee was six months ago.”  
  
She unlocked the cabinet with one of the keys attached to her necklace. Poison watched in amazement as she opened the door and revealed a row of cans with the Better Living logo stamped on the front. She took out a can with brown powder speckled near the lid, then stood and closed the door with her foot.  
  
“Oh yeah?” she said as she unscrewed the lid. “Was it good?”  
  
“Nah, it was pretty weak. You know, I’ve adjusted to living out here pretty well, but one thing I still haven’t figured out how to live without is coffee. My brother and I used to drink gallons of it when we lived in the city.”  
  
She nodded, then took set of measuring cups from a drawer. “I hear that happens with a lot of rebels,” she said as she took a glass from the windowsill. “You come out to the Zones and don’t know what to do with yourselves.”  
  
Poison nodded. “Yeah, we do a lot of improvisation. It’s a good thing, because it gets us thinking creatively, you know?” He tapped his head with his forefinger. “They’ve tried making coffee with acorns, and now they’re working on some kind of root, chicory or something...”  
  
“Oh, that sounds horrid.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
She scooped out a few tablespoons of dark brown powder and dumped them into the glass, then held the glass under the faucet and turned the knob. There was a gurgle, and a trickle of water spurted out. She held the glass under the tap until it was three-quarters full, then covered the glass with a lid, shook it until it was full of brown liquid, and pressed something on the bottom of the glass. She laid it on the table, folded her arms, and waited. A few moments later, the glass glowed bright orange.  
  
“Self-heating glasses,” she said in response to Poison’s stunned look. “Can you believe what they come up with in the city these days? It never fails to amaze me.”  
  
“Wow,” Poison said. “Wow. That’s--yeah. That’s amazing.”  
  
She smiled at him, then waited a few more minutes until the orange glow faded away and handed him the glass. Poison took it gingerly. It was warm to the touch.  
  
“There you go,” she said. “Fresh from Mayweather Café.”  
  
Poison pried off the lid and breathed in deeply. The coffee had a sharp aroma that brought to mind memories of sitting in the local Gold Coin Café when he was nineteen, perched on a high stool in front of a round white table that was scattered with textbooks and papers for his graphic design course. Fellow college students milled around and chatted with coffee cups in their hands, gold straws poking out of rich foam and dollops of whipped cream with chocolate or caramel shavings. A feeling of longing seized him for a moment, but he shook himself and took a sip. It was hot, heavy, and strong. The last coffee he’d had had been a thin, watery mess.  
  
“How is it?” Ms. Mayweather said.  
  
“It’s great!” Poison laughed. “I haven’t had coffee like this in years. Where did you get it?”  
  
“I bought it directly from the city.”  
  
Poison’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly hitched it back on his face. “Oh yeah? We get our supplies from people in the Zones, usually.”  
  
“Is that right?” She smiled at him, then wiped her hands on a dish towel beside the sink. “Well, I’ll go see how breakfast is going. Better go wake up your brother, or he’ll miss out.”  
  
“All right. I’m on it. What are we having?”  
  
“Oh, whatever Melody grabbed from the cabinet.” She pushed open the screen door and headed outside.  
  
Poison headed back to their bedroom, where Kobra was still asleep. His hair lay tangled on the pillow, and his jaw was darkened with stubble. Poison laid the glass on the bedside table, then gently shook Kobra’s shoulder. Kobra slowly opened his eyes, then abruptly sat up in bed, his eyes wide.  
  
“It’s okay,” Poison said in a whisper, as if Kobra were still asleep. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
  
“Is everything okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I wanted to show you something before we have breakfast.” Poison held up the glass and smiled.  
  
Kobra narrowed his eyes, then dawning realization crossed his face. “Holy shit, dude--is that coffee?”  
  
“Instant coffee, yeah,” Poison said. “She made it this morning.”  
  
“She? Who’s she?”  
  
“Ms. Mayweather.” Kobra blinked at him. “Remember? The market owner?”  
  
“Ms--oh! Right! Ms. Mayweather!” He rubbed his face with his hand. “Yeah. That’s right. So made coffee? What kind is it?”  
  
“It’s instant,” Poison repeated.  
  
“Instant what?”  
  
“Instant. Powdered coffee. You know, like we had in the city?”  
  
“Really? She has that?”  
  
“She’s got everything, Kid. You should’ve seen all the food in her cabinets.”  
  
He handed Kobra the glass. Kobra took a long sip and closed his eyes.  
  
“Oh man,” he said. “It’s amazing.”  
  
Poison laughed. “Yeah. I haven’t had it in years.”  
  
“It reminds me of when we used to get coffee before work. What was that place called, the Golden Café?”  
  
“Gold Coin Café.”  
  
He snapped his fingers. “Gold Coin Café, yeah. You shouldn’t have given this to me, man. I was just starting to tolerate that acorn shit.”  
  
Poison smiled, then patted the mattress. “Yeah. Hey, why don’t you get up? Breakfast’s almost ready.”  
  
“Breakfast?” Kobra looked around the room as if searching for a clock. “What time is it?”  
  
“It’s breakfast time. Come on.”  
  
After Kobra got dressed, Poison led him to the kitchen and they stepped outside. Fresh morning air hit Poison’s senses, making him feel rejuvenated. They walked over to Ms. Mayweather, who stood next to a girl crouched beside something on the ground. As they approached, they could see that it was a frying pan placed on a portable stove with the Better Living logo stamped on the side. Flames crackled beneath the black mesh. The girl had light brown hair combed and pinned beneath a red handkerchief. A thin plaid dress made from the same material as the curtains hung off her lean frame. One hand loosely held the pot handle, her nails ragged and crusted with dirt.  
  
“Good morning,” Ms. Mayweather said when they approached. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet,” she said to Kobra. “I’m Ms. Mayweather. You scuttled off last night before I had a chance to meet you.”  
  
“Sorry about that,” Kobra said, shaking her hand. “Had the shakes last night.”  
  
“That’s all right. You know, I wasn’t surprised at all when your brother told me you had bad nerves. You look like a jittery little thing.”  
  
Kobra laughed. “Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. Very skinny. Of course, most rebels are. How are those nerves this morning, by the way?”  
  
“Not too bad. I just needed to sleep it off.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad. This is Melody, by the way.” She gestured for Melody to stand up. When she did, Ms. Mayweather put an arm around her shoulders while she smiled sheepishly. “As I was saying, this is Melody from Zone Three. I take in rebel girls to take care of the ranch while I manage all the business work,” she said when Kobra gave her a questioning look. “I thought about hiring another girl during these past couple of weeks. It’s been so busy, with the market coming up.”  
  
“She wanted to hire my sister,” Melody said shyly.  
  
“That’s right. Melody does such nice work that I thought her sister would be just as good. But their mother didn’t want to let both of her daughters go. Well, I can’t blame her. Rebels make the best workers, though. They’re used to a hard working life, unlike the lazy bums we’ve got out here.”  
  
Melody smiled, then crouched down in front of the fire again. Poison and Kobra passed the coffee back and forth and watched the fire crackle and pop. Inside the frying pan were two small silver paper boxes.  
  
While Kobra took a sip from the glass, Poison placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the ranch. The property was surrounded by a fence made from stripped wood logs, and the house was wide and huddled close to the ground. Wide silvery panels gleamed from the roof. A few goats wandered around the property, occasionally nosing at the sand for food, and chickens clucked and bustled in a wood-and-wire chicken coop near the house.  
  
Poison nudged Kobra. “Look at her roof,” he whispered.  
  
Kobra shielded his eyes with his hand and peered at the roof. “What are those? Are those solar panels?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“Man, those would be nice in the Zones.”  
  
“Yeah, we could have a working fridge and heater.”  
  
Kobra nodded. “No more freezing like stray dogs in the winter.”  
  
A few moments later, Melody lifted a corner of one of the box’s lids with her fingertip, then said “They’re done!” After Poison and Kobra helped carry the stove back to the kitchen, they leaned against the counter while Melody took plates from the cabinets and laid them on the table.  
  
“Do you need some help with that?” Kobra said, stepping forward.  
  
“No, no, I’ve got it,” she said kindly. She filled four glasses with water from the faucet, laid four cloth napkins beside each plate, placed a silver fork and knife in the center of each plate, and slipped on an oven mitt from the drawer. She picked up the boxes and placed them in the middle of the table, then carefully opened the lids. Hot steam and a bready scent poured out.  
  
“They’re ready!” she said, slipping off the oven mitt. “Let’s eat!”  
  
The chairs screeched along the floor as Melody and Ms. Mayweather pulled them back and sat down at the table. Poison and Kobra exchanged glances, then pulled out their own chairs and joined them. Meals at the diner usually consisted of cooking shreds of meat, withered vegetables, and a glob of canned food over a campfire, scraping it evenly into four separate bowls, and gulping it down while they washed clothing, checked the storage room, or kneaded salt into hunks of deer, rabbit, or coyote meat. The last time they had eaten together was on Poison’s birthday a month ago.  
  
Poison’s stomach growled. He jabbed his fork into a biscuit and dropped it on his plate, then picked it up and took a bite. It was slightly stale, but flaky, buttery, and soft. A sausage patty poked out from between the layers.  
  
“This is delicious,” Kobra said. “Did you buy this from a restaurant?”  
  
“No, it’s just regular Better Living food,” Mrs. Mayweather said. “Do they have restaurants in the Zones?”  
  
“Not many. The last one went belly-up, didn’t it?” he said to Poison.  
  
Poison nodded as he chewed. “Yeah. They couldn’t keep up with the expenses.”  
  
“Well, that’s a shame,” Ms. Mayweather said. “But sI hear that rebel businesses never last long.”  
  
Melody snuck glances at Poison and Kobra as she sawed tiny pieces off her biscuit with her knife. Poison smiled at her, and she ducked down and stared at her plate.  
  
When breakfast was finished, Ms. Mayweather led Poison and Kobra outside. A low humidity had settled in the air, and hot grains of sand snaked up into Poison’s sandals. They walked over to the side of the house, where the overhung roof cast shade over a bucket of grain and a water trough. A black-and-white goat stood in front of the trough, lapping up water. Poison’s stomach twisted as he watched the water ripple. Enough water for a dozen thirsty Killjoys, being lapped up by goats.  
  
“We keep goats and chickens out here,” Ms. Mayweather said. She punched her finger into the corner of a box and poured a few cups of grain into the bucket. The goat suddenly lifted its head, water dripping from its chin, then clopped over to the bucket and dipped its head inside. “We’re hoping to get a pig within the next few months, if we can secure one from St. Andrew’s. They don’t like giving up their pigs, but we’re prepared to pay a good price for them.”  
  
“They have pigs up there?” Poison said.  
  
“Oh, yes. They have about a dozen piglets every year. They keep some for breeding purposes, one or two usually dies off, they butcher a few, and if you’re lucky, they might put a couple up for auction at market. We like to get one and raise it, then butcher it when it’s nice and fat for the ham, bacon, and sausage.”  
  
Images flashed through Poison’s mind of pink slabs of ham sizzling on a grill, crispy bacon slices with soft fatty ends, dark sausage links that leaked grease when sliced open. He turned to Kobra, who wore a gaunt, hungry look.  
  
“Do you sell any of it?” Poison said, trying to hide the hunger in his voice.  
  
“We sell some of it, yes. But it only lasts a few days before it’s all snatched up.”  
  
“When do you sell it?”  
  
She turned to him with her eyebrows raised. “Well, if you’re so interested, I could put your name on a list.”  
  
Poison smiled with relief. “Yeah. That’d be great. How much is it?”  
  
“Nine carbons a piece, give or take.”  
  
His face fell. “Nine carbons?”  
  
“It’s not cheap. I won’t even tell you how much a full pig costs up there.”  
  
Poison pursed his lips, and he and Kobra exchanged disappointed looks. His shoulders slouched, he followed her to the back of the house. Two rocking chairs sat next to a back door, and a few glass bottles hung from the roof, tinkling in the wind.  
  
“Melody and I like to sit out back here and relax some nights,” she said. “Do you two ever do anything like that?”  
  
“Sometimes,” Poison said. He didn’t add that they had stopped going outside at night a week ago after Dr. Death Defying announced on the radio that a gang of Crescent Moons had been spotted at a bar a mile away.  
  
“The view out here is incredible,” she said, sweeping an arm toward the mountain range in the distance. “Especially at night, when it’s all dark and foggy and blueish--when I was a child, I used to think that the mountains were a fairy land.” She pointed up at the sky. “And on a clear night, you can see all the stars and planets above you. There’s even a strange blinking object we’ve been seeing for the past couple of months--Melody thinks it’s a UFO, but I say it’s Better Living satellite. That’d be just like the city, to put a satellite up there.”  
  
Kobra wrapped his arms around himself, his expression cloudy. Memories of the Crescent Moons seemed to be running through his mind. Poison touched his arm, then stepped forward.  
  
“It’s getting kind of hot out here,” Poison said. “Kobra and I still need to set up our game plan for the day. You mind if we go inside for a bit?”  
  
“You’re ready to go back inside? All right, we’ll go in through the back way. Technically, it’s Melody’s room, but it won’t matter. She’s almost never in it.”  
  
She unlocked the back door and they followed her inside. The room had the same earthy walls and curtained window as the guest room, but the bed sported a faded patchwork quilt, and a dresser and bookshelf stood against the wall. A small wooden table and chair sat in the corner, with a vase bristling with fake yellow carnations. In front of the bed was an oval-shaped maroon rug. The bed was perfectly made, with the quilt draped neatly over the mattress and the pillow arranged in front of the headboard.  
  
Poison grabbed his backpack from the guest room, then settled down with Kobra in the living room. While Poison dug a journal and pencil out of his backpack, Ms. Mayweather joined Melody in the kitchen. There were the sounds of cabinets opening and closing, chairs being pulled out, and laughter and talk.  
  
Poison crossed one leg over his knee and flipped to a page in the journal. The couch he and Kobra shared was small and white, and a dark stain crept along the side. A wooden coffee table sat in front of them on a knitted maroon rug, and a fireplace stood in a corner of the room, with small handmade picture frames crowded on the mantle. A dark brown couch sat adjacent to Poison’s seat, and a large painting of a grassy field hung on the wall.  
  
Kobra’s expression was still distant. “That fireplace would be nice to have, huh?” Poison said, trying to sound cheerful.  
  
Kobra turned to him as if he’d snapped out of a trance. “Yeah. If we could figure out how to install one without burning the whole place down.”  
  
“Aaah, you sound like Jet.” He poised his pencil above the paper, which had scribbled notes and addresses in the margins. “All right. What spot do we need to hit first?”  
  
“Better get rid of the meat first. I don’t want to be lugging it around all day.”  
  
Poison jotted a dash and wrote _SELL MEAT._ “All right. And then?”  
  
Once their schedule was complete, Poison closed the journal and tucked it back inside his backpack. He stood and turned to see Ms. Mayweather sitting at the kitchen table, which was scattered with books and papers, scribbling something in a binder. Melody stood at the sink, wringing a bunched-up wad of brown fabric in the soapy water.  
  
“Hey, I think we’re going to get dressed, then head out,” Poison said loudly. Ms. Mayweather looked up from her binder, and Melody turned around.  
  
“So soon?” Ms. Mayweather said. “All right. Good luck, you two.”  
  
“Thanks. And thank you for letting us stay here. We appreciate it,” Poison said as Kobra nodded along.  
  
“Yeah, thank you,” Kobra said. “You saved us a lot of driving today.”  
  
“You’re welcome. I might start doing this more often. You boys got lucky this time. Next time I might be charging rent.”  
  
Poison forced a laugh. “Okay. Hey, do you want us to give you a ride?”  
  
“No, that’s fine. Melody and I will get there on our own time.” She and Melody shared a smile.  
  
“Okay. We’ll see you later. Bye!”  
  
“Bye.” Ms. Mayweather raised a hand and waved, and Poison waved back, then grabbed the backpack and started to head out. He stopped when he noticed Kobra standing still, his arms wrapped around himself, a fearful look on his face.  
  
“Hey,” Poison said quickly. He walked back over to the couch and dropped the backpack on the table. “Are you okay, Kid?”  
  
He waved a hand dismissively, his eyes lowered. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just nerves.”  
  
“Do you want to stay here and rest a while longer? We don’t have to leave now.”  
  
Kobra shook his head. “No. It’s fine. Let’s just go.”  
  
“You can stay here. I’ll drive up there, sell the meat, and drive back.”  
  
Fear flashed across Kobra’s face at the thought of being alone without Poison. “Oh, no,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Come on.” Poison frowned slightly as Kobra pushed past him toward the guest room, then shook his head and followed him.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Once inside the guest room, they put on their neutral outfits. Kobra’s outfit was a faded red T-shirt, jeans, and a brown jacket made of light, wrinkly fabric. The long sleeves draped over his hands. Poison’s outfit was his _KEEP SMILING_ T-shirt, jeans and sandals, and a long greenish buttoned-up shirt with a few patches sewn on the front and the sleeves. He tucked a pair of round orange-rimmed sunglasses in the left front pocket. The outfits wouldn’t fool many people, but it would help them avoid drawing attention to themselves.  
  
The Trans Am was parked on the side of the house, under the shade. The front of the car gleamed in the sunlight, momentarily blinding Poison as he walked up to the front door. He yanked it open, reached back and dropped his backpack in the back seat, and sat down and buckled himself in. Kobra sat down, took a heavy breath, and tugged out the seatbelt.  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Poison said. “We don’t have go now. We can wait.”  
  
Kobra ran a hand across his face. “No, let’s go now,” he said. “I’ll get over it. It’s just--I keep thinking we’re going to run into those guys on the road.”  
  
“We’ve got friends all over the place,” Poison said reassuringly. “Even in Golden Valley. If we get in trouble, I’ll radio someone and they’ll come running.”  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“I’m sure.”  
  
Kobra nodded again, then folded his arms and stared out at the road. Poison sucked in his breath, then jammed his key in the ignition and started the engine. The Trans Am purred to life. Poison pressed the pedal and they headed out onto the road.  
  
After about ten minutes, Kobra’s shoulders relaxed and the tension on his face started to ease. He rolled down his window a crack and let the wind whistle through. Poison smiled to himself.  
  
“So what did you think of our hosts?” he said.  
  
“Our hosts?” Kobra said. “Oh, yeah, they seem nice. But did you get the feeling, that, uh...do you think she’s sleeping with that Killjoy girl?”  
  
“What? No. They’re like ten years apart.”  
  
“Oh, you mean like D and Pony?”  
  
“Hey, I said they might be together from the start.”  
  
“No, you said there’s no possible way they’re together, because D’s too old and Pony wouldn’t limit himself to one man. Anyway, when they were talking and laughing in the kitchen, I could see it: D and Pony. Right there.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean they’re sleeping together.”  
  
“Did you see that girl’s bed? It looked like she hadn’t slept in it in a week.”  
  
“She probably made the bed. She’s a maid.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“A maid. A housekeeper.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Well, Ms. Mayweather said she’s never in there. Remember?”  
  
He raised his eyebrows at Poison, who rolled his eyes.  
  
“Not everyone we know is gay, Kid.”  
  
“Oh, not everyone,” Kobra said. “But I’m pretty sure that our hostesses are.”  
  
“You said the same thing about Chow Mein.”  
  
“I’m still not sure that he isn’t.”  
  
“He’s not. He had a wife.”  
  
“Well, that doesn’t mean much. Remember that famous singer, what’s-his-name, Ricky? Ricky something. In the city?”  
  
“Kid, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Yeah, you do. He was married, then he came out as gay and everyone freaked out. You know this, you were one of the people freaking out. You came home from school that day shouting ‘ _Oh my God! Ricky what’s-his-name is gay!’_ ”  
  
Poison waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean Chow Mein is gay. Or these two women.”  
  
Kobra shook his head. “You’ll see, dude,” he said. “You didn’t believe me about D and Pony either, and they did everything but make out in front of us.”  
  
As they drove down the highway, they passed a large camp on the side of the road. Some tents were sewed together from cloth, some made from plastic tarps propped up on poles, and some were white and had the Better Living logo stamped on the side. A few grimy cars were parked around the camp, and a bicycle lay on its side. A few barefoot people in ragged clothing stood in front of the fire, cooking something in frying pans. Three children ran around the tents, shouting and whooping. A woman poked her head out of one of the tents and shouted something, and they immediately fell silent.  
  
They cruised through a few small settlements made of tin and wooden shacks. People pushed back their curtains, stepped out of their doors, and stopped their activities to watch the Trans Am pass. In the town Mint Jelly, they drew such a crowd that Poison decided to pull over to the side of the road. He and Kobra greeted everyone and posed for photographs in front of the car for the lucky ones with Polaroid cameras.  
  
They passed several buildings scattered throughout the desert, including gas stations, old houses, a couple of warehouses, an abandoned Battery City outpost, a refugee shelter, a trailer park, and a massive fenced-in area with a _NO TRESPASSING_ sign from the U. S. government. The fence was rusted and hacked through or pulled up in several places, and the sign was blackened with laser burns. Poison had learned in a history class years ago that the site had been a mystery even before the Helium Wars, and while Battery City units had explored the compound and found nothing but laboratories, old files, and equipment, many still believed that an alien from another world had been held prisoner there.  
  
Between the buildings and settlements were vast stretches of desert, dotted with towering cacti, gnarled shrubs, spiky brushes, rocks, and dry grass. Occasionally they spotted a hare running across the sand, or a lizard sunning itself on a rock. Other cars, trucks, and motorcycles occasionally zoomed past. Kobra tensed whenever a pickup truck drove past, and Poison laid a hand on his shoulder. They also passed a few people on bicycles, and one woman with a sun hat riding a horse. Bulky bags swung from the saddle.  
  
After traveling for nearly an hour, they started passing cars with increasing frequency, as well as people on bicycles, and some walking on foot with backpacks strapped to their backs. A man with a goat on a leash plodded along beside the road. Pieces of cardboard that read _GOLDEN VALLEY MARKET AHEAD_ were taped to old road signs and stuck to cacti. They came to a town made of creaky wooden shacks, whose occupants were peering out of their windows and standing outside their doors, watching the crowd go by. A few grills had been set up, and the smell of cooked meat filled the air. Some had placed chairs in front of their houses, and were eating a late breakfast or fanning themselves with folded-up newspapers. Others had set up tables piled with worn, ratty goods and tried to wave down potential buyers. Several people gasped, shrieked, and pointed as Poison drove by. He smiled and waved a hand in greeting.  
  
Finally, they reached a tall chain-link fence with a clean white sign that read _GOLDEN VALLEY_ with the words _NO TRESPASSING_ beneath, followed by a list of regulations. A wooden booth with a glass window stood in front of the fence beside the road. Solar panels gleamed on the roof of the booth. The vehicle in front of Poison, a rusty green car with a dozen bumper stickers stuck to the bumper and trunk, pulled up to the booth. While the driver stepped out and handed the man in a booth a small plastic card, Poison read the bumper stickers. _COEXIST. PINK FLOYD. PMSING B*TCH ON BOARD._  
  
“Did you see that last one?” Kobra said.  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“That ‘bitch on board’ one. Is that something you want to advertise?”  
  
“Maybe she’s trying to warn people.”  
  
“Well, if you’re a PMSing bitch on board, you probably don’t give a damn.”  
  
The front door slammed and the green car drove away. Chuckling, Poison pulled up to the booth. Inside the booth was a bald man wearing a khaki shirt and a dusty pair of jeans. He stood next to a desk with a computer monitor and a scanner, casting a blue light on the tabletop.  
  
“Good morning, boys,” the man said. “You here for the market today?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Poison said brightly.  
  
“All right. You two inbetweeners?”  
  
“No, sir. We’re Killjoys.” Poison couldn’t keep a hint of pride out of his voice.  
  
A concerned look crossed the man’s face for a moment. “Can you step outside for a moment?”  
  
Poison and Kobra stepped out of the car and walked over to the booth. “Hey, Beth?” the man in the booth shouted. “Come over here and check out their car, will you?”  
  
A dark-skinned woman in a black jacket who had been leaning against the fence stepped over to the car. A pink ray gun was strapped to her hip, and the words _SECURITY GUARD_ had been painted on the back of her jacket. “Good morning,” she said to Poison and Kobra. “Do you mind if I search your vehicle?”  
  
“No, not at all,” Poison said, stepping back.  
  
She opened the front door and looked around, peered in the glove compartment, checked beneath the seats, and patted the seat cushions, then opened the back door and patted around on the cushions and peered under the seats. Poison and Kobra exchanged glances as she rifled through Poison’s backpack.  
  
“May I look inside the trunk, sir?” she said after closing the back door.  
  
“Sure thing,” Poison said. He unlocked the trunk, then automatically opened the lids of the two large coolers inside. They were packed with strips of dark salted meat. She dug around inside each cooler, peered in the trunk around the coolers, and finally stepped back and let Poison close the trunk lid.  
  
“Did you two bring any weapons with you today?” she said. “Besides those guns you’re wearing.”  
  
Poison pulled his ray gun out of its holster and held it up. “Just our guns,” he said. “For safety on the road.”  
  
“You can’t take those inside, I’m afraid,” she said. “You’ll have to leave them at the booth. You can pick them back up at the retrieval center when you leave. Do you know where that is?”  
  
He nodded and pointed to a white building near the fence. “It’s that building over there, right?”  
  
“That’s right. Now can you stretch your arms out, please?”  
  
After she had lightly patted Poison and Kobra down, they walked up to the booth and slid their ray guns through the slot in the window. Even though they had left their real guns at home, and brought a pair of spare white ones, Poison tensed at the thought that they might not see them again. As they climbed back into the car, Poison noticed the man in the car behind them angrily muttering something. He thought he saw the words “fucking Killjoys” on the man’s lips.  
  
“Well, that was an ordeal,” Kobra said as Poison switched on the ignition. “I don’t remember security being that bad last time.”  
  
“Maybe they’re trying to keep us out,” Poison said, then instantly regretted it as he thought of the worries he had seeded in Kobra’s mind.  
  
“Yeah? Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” He paused as the security guard unlocked the fence. “God, I hope this place doesn’t go the way of St. Andrew’s.”  
  
“They’re not going to ban us,” Poison said. “Forget what I said. We give them too much revenue.”  
  
“You sure? St. Andrew’s is doing pretty well.”  
  
Poison cruised slowly through the entrance. “St. Andrew’s doesn’t need us, they get half their supplies from the city. These guys still need Killjoy money.”  
  
“Not if they expand their farmland like they’ve been talking about.”  
  
“They can’t, it’s still owned by North Waterfall.”  
  
“They could buy it. Get enough of our filthy cash to plow their fields and kick us out of here.”  
  
A hint of anxiety crept into Kobra’s voice. Poison gave him a sympathetic look.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” he said gently. “Just try to enjoy the day, okay?”  
  
Kobra nodded and went silent, focused on the road ahead. To the left of the road was a large open patch of ground, with several cars already parked inside. Poison parked next to a small yellow car with a teddy bear propped up in the back window. He reached up and batted the foam Mousekat keychain that hung from the rearview mirror for good luck.  
  
After Poison stepped outside and put on his backpack, he and Kobra lifted the wheeled coolers out of the trunk, pulled out the handles, and headed for the road. The coolers bumped and jiggled on the rocky, sandy ground, then cruised smoothly when they hit the pavement with a slight whirring sound.   
  
Shacks, buildings, booths, and tables were lined on each side of the road. There were small wooden buildings with chipped paint and signs on the front doors, aluminum shacks that shone in the sunlight, long tables shadowed by tarps or blankets propped up with poles, blankets stretched on the ground and piled with goods, crates and boxes packed with merchandise, and tables that sat exposed in the sunlight, the sellers wearing sunglasses and straw hats. There were more goods than Poison could imagine: clothing folded in stacks and draped on hangers, strings of plastic and wooden beads, piles of musty books, strips of dried meat, jars of preserved vegetables in yellowish liquid, mud-stained stuffed animals, tins of canned Better Living food, toolboxes with gleaming wrenches, faded paintings with dusty frames, new paintings with shiny fresh paint, globs of homemade soap, first-aid kits, and more. The road was already crowded with people, peering at the goods, picking them up and examining them, digging carbons out of their wallets, and haggling with the shopkeepers.  
  
Poison and Kobra wheeled the coolers into a small building made of scratchy wooden planks with chipped white paint, a screen door, two tall windows, and a small porch made of flat stones with a wooden staircase on one end and a ramp on the other. A green roof hung over the porch, and an American flag stuck in the wall waved in the breeze. A hand painted sign above the door read _WELCOME FRIENDS._ A bell tinkled and the door creaked when Poison pushed it open.  
  
Near the center of the room was a wide glass case mounted on a tall white stand. Through the frosty fog clouding the glass, Poison could see a few small piles of raw meat inside the case. Some were wrapped in brown paper and bore handwritten prices, and others were sealed in plastic and had a Better Living sticker on the front. His mouth watered as he eyed the hunks of rabbit meat, slices of ham, and venison. Along the right wall was a dimly lit freezer with foggy glass doors. Behind the first door were larger cuts of meat, including an entire ham, two chickens, pink sausages, and bacon strips. The second door held ragged pieces of meat from foxes, coyotes, squirrels, rabbits, deer, and even a mountain lion. Poison had the urge to stand in front of the freezers, place a hand on the cool door, and gaze at the meat. But he shook himself and walked directly up to the counter.  
  
Behind the counter stood a man in his late twenties with dark brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a stained white apron. He spoke to a teenage girl with olive skin and black hair tied into a ponytail that was draped over her shoulder. She listened intently and nodded as he spoke, then suddenly turned and smiled when she heard the Way brothers approach.  
  
“Hi!” Craig said, patting the counter in a friendly way. “Are you guys here to drop off some meat?”  
  
“Yep,” Poison said as he and Kobra unlatched the cooler lids. “We’ve had a better hunting season so far. Two full coolers.”  
  
“I can see that.” Craig took a pair of latex gloves from a box beneath the counter and snapped them on, then stepped from around the counter and knelt in front of the coolers. “You guys got here early this year. Normally I don’t see you until around noon.”  
  
“Yeah, we decided to stay with someone this year so we didn’t have to drive for three hours straight.”  
  
“Yeah?” He picked up a piece of hard salted meat and turned it around in his hands, checking for discoloration. “Who are you staying with?”  
  
“Ms. Mayweather.”  
  
Craig looked up. “Ms. Mayweather? The owner?”  
  
Poison smiled and nodded. “The very same.”  
  
“Oh, wow. Did she drive up with you guys?”  
  
“No, she said she’ll come up here later.”  
  
The girl rested her arms on the counter and leaned forward. “That’s not gonna happen,” she said.  
  
“She’ll be here,” Craig said. “She’s gotta check everything out, make sure people are doing what they’re supposed to.”  
  
“Yeah, she’ll show up for an hour, stick her head in a few doorways, and leave. She’s always too busy messing around with whatever rebel girl she’s got that year.”  
  
Kobra gave Poison a significant look. Poison pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows skeptically.  
  
Craig sniffed a piece of rabbit meat. “Well, she spends half the year organizing this. I think she deserves some time off.”  
  
“If she wanted a bunch of time off, she shouldn’t have gotten involved with this in the first place.”  
  
Craig sighed. “You know, sometimes I think you’re too picky, Sandra.”  
  
“I’m not picky. I just think people should get their jobs done.”  
  
After Craig had inspected all the meat, he weighed each piece on a scale on the counter and placed it on a sheet of wax paper. Sandra took notes in a notebook and organized the meat into neat piles. When Craig was finished, he stepped back, swiped his hands together, glanced at the notebook, and said “Well, it looks like we’ll give you a hundred and seventy-five carbons for it. Is that good?”  
  
Poison’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah. That’s great. Thank you so much.”  
  
“No problem. Come up here and Sandra’ll give it to you.”  
  
Poison stepped up to the cash register on the counter. Sandra unlocked the cash drawer and counted out white, green, blue, and yellow carbons in orderly piles on the tabletop, then counted the piles one more time and placed them all in one stack, which she handed to Poison. Before she could close the drawer, Craig stepped behind the counter and quickly slipped Poison another five carbons. Sandra looked at him in surprise.  
  
“And get you and your brother something to eat,” he whispered, nodding toward Kobra, who was standing in front of the freezer with his arms folded. “You two look skinnier than usual. Especially him.”  
  
Emotion welled up inside Poison. He grasped Craig’s hand and thanked him.


	3. Chapter 3

After Poison and Kobra had helped Sandra and Craig pile the meat in the chilled room in the back, they walked back to the Trans Am and loaded the coolers in the trunk.

“Man, it feels weird being out here, after being in that freezing room,” Kobra said as they headed back to the market.

“Yeah. It’s nice.” The sun seemed to beat down on them less, and the breeze felt cooler.

“Maybe we should pop back in there a few more times.”

Poison looked at Kobra and tried to smile. “Maybe.” His eyes lingered on Kobra before he turned away. His face was angular and thin, and his arms were like two reedy branches.

They headed for a table piled with cans of food, where they bought ten cans and stuffed them in Poison’s backpack. Kobra picked up a green glass candy dish from the next table, unaware that the seller was glaring at him as if expecting him to steal it. Poison gave the seller, a bald man with a chunk missing from his ear, a dirty look as they walked past. The man looked away in fright.

They studied a row of paintings propped up against a table, where Kobra talked Poison out of buying a painting of a neon green alien with bulging eyes reared up in front of an astronaut. They bought four packages of military food to be eaten at Christmas, and studied first-aid kits that were two expensive to purchase. As they passed a rack of faded blue jeans, Poison thought he heard someone say “--escent Moon.” Kobra abruptly stopped and turned around, his eyes wide. They stopped and listened for a moment, but heard only benign snatches of conversation. Poison scanned the market, but didn’t see any crescent moon logos shining off  anyone’s jacket.

“It was probably nothing,” Poison said, patting his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“I swear I heard that woman say Crescent Moon,” Kobra said as they walked down the road.

“Well, other people probably use that symbol, you know?”

Half an hour later, they came to a tiny one-room building that had recently been repainted. The walls were shiny and black, with no chips or peeling paint. A sign on the front door said _COME INSIDE FOR AN ENTHRALLING EXPERIENCE._ Poison tried to remember what the building had been before.

He expected the building to make Kobra anxious, but instead he turned to Poison with his eyebrows raised. “Want to come inside for an enthralling experience?”

“Are you sure we don’t have to pay for it? It’s probably one of those tourist traps.”

“Hang on, I’ll look inside.”

Kobra pushed open the door and peered around inside. “There’s nobody in there,” he said. “Nobody taking money, at least.”

He followed Kobra into what at first seemed like a dark room. Then he spotted the small rectangular device on the floor, with a blue light glowing at the top and the Better Living logo on the side. A woman with stringy hair and a ruddy face sat next to the device with her arm draped across it. The device emitted a point of light that expanded and projected a moving image on the opposite wall. A few people sat on the floor, one cross-legged, one with his legs stretched out, and one with her chin resting in her hands, watching the film. One girl stood against the wall with her eyes closed and let the image wash over her.

The grainy footage stirred something in Poison’s memory. Where he had seen it before? Then he recalled a history class he had taken years ago in the city.

“This footage, known as the Desert Snow tape, is the earliest post-Helium Wars film that has been found to date,” his teacher had said as she tapped a few buttons on the screen and pulled up the video. “It was found in what we now call Zone Seven in 1981 by an explorer named Nellie Brosch. She and her team were commissioned by Better Living to explore the Zones and see how much land was habitable after the wars.”

The ceiling lights dimmed automatically as the video started to play. The film was grainy and sometimes flecked with smudges or dirt, and the audio consisted of hushed white noise and the occasional grinding or scraping sound. The footage opened with a shot of an empty street with crooked black powerlines standing in rows like sentries. An unlit traffic light hung overhead. Nothing stirred in the buildings in the background, and the street was covered with a blanket of undisturbed snow.

The next clips seemed to have been filmed from a moving vehicle, as they showed the desert rolling past. There were no signs of civilization except for the dead powerlines. The ground was rocky and barren. Next, the cameraman appeared to be walking down a railroad track, as the shot was slow and bumpy. Snow powdered the ground beside the wooden tracks, and the sky was grey. Another shot showed a moving view of a row of houses with three inches of snow on their roofs. Poison thought he saw a flicker of light in the first house’s attic, but the rest of the windows were dark.

“There used to be people here,” the cameraman said in a hoarse voice obscured by static-filled audio. “But they’re gone now. They’re all gone.”

The students who had started to doze off were suddenly alert. Poison shifted in his seat with vague unease.

The next shot showed another snowy road with a grey building in the distance. A man dressed in bulky black clothes slowly scraped snow off the road with a shovel and dumped it off to the side. _Why?_ Poison thought. _Who’s going to be traveling on those roads?_ There was a clip of a small desert settlement with a pick-up truck, a fence made of wooden logs, and tiny rectangular buildings huddled close to the ground, but Poison couldn’t tell if it were inhabited or not. The final shot showed a car buried in a foot of snow, and a small quiet city in the background, the buildings and powerlines all blanketed with white. There was a final scraping sound, what sounded like a sigh, and the screen abruptly went black.

The ceiling lights came back on. The students stirred uncomfortably, and Poison swallowed hard.

“The maker of that footage is still unknown,” the teacher said, her clear voice breaking through the heavy silence in the room. “But it has proved invaluable to us, as it shows what many experts believe is the result of nuclear winter.”

Now Poison and Kobra silently watched the looped footage. Kobra stared at the film as if he were in a trance. Poison searched for the light in the attic every time the houses appeared, but he couldn’t find it. Had he imagined it? “There used to be people here,” the voice said whenever the houses rolled by on the wall. “But they’re gone now. They’re all gone.” An empty feeling settled in the pit of Poison’s stomach. When he heard the voice for the sixth time, he gently touched Kobra’s arm. Kobra looked up from his reverie. Poison gestured for them to leave, and they silently walked out of the building.

The sunlight momentarily blinded Poison when he stepped out, and he fished his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. The barren, snow-capped houses lingered in his mind. His vision suddenly blurred, and he shook his head and tried to blink it away.

_Stop. Stop it. You’re in public._

__Poison walked blindly down the road, accidentally bumping against someone’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He hurried away with no destination in mind, furiously blinking back tears, a twisted feeling in his stomach...

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around. Kobra stood in front of him with his brow furrowed in concern. “Poison,” he said. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Poison nodded, then covered his hand with his mouth and turned away. Kobra placed an arm around his shoulders and led him over to a bench near the side of the road. They sat quietly for several minutes while Poison wiped his eyes and waited for the tears to subside. Kobra kept a steady hand on his back. When the lump in his throat had disappeared, Poison took off his sunglasses and wiped his face on the back of his hand.

“Are my eyes red?” he said weakly.

Kobra pushed the wet hair out of his face. “Yeah, a little.”

“That’s great.”

“It’s all right. We’ll just tell everyone we were blazing in there.”

Poison laughed shakily. “Sorry I freaked out on you, Kid.”

“No, it’s okay. Just tell me what made you so upset. Was it that video?”

“I don’t know,” Poison said truthfully. “It was--seeing all that desolation, I guess. All that emptiness.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What if that happens to us? You know?”

“It’s not going to happen,” Kobra said, though he didn’t sound positive. “I mean, those guys didn’t have anything. At least there’s food and supplies out here. We might have to go neutral, but we won’t starve.”

Poison opened his mouth to argue, but remembered Kobra’s anxiety in the car. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s nothing. I think the heat is making me emotional.” He smiled half-heartedly and gestured to his head.

Kobra smiled back. “Getting high off the radiation, huh? I knew you’d crack eventually.”

“Yeah. Throw me in with the wave-heads, I’m done.”

Kobra patted his shoulder. “All right, I’ll call a Wavey Wagon.”

Poison burst out laughing. “A Wavey Wagon?”

“That’s what they’re called! I heard that on the radio! I swear!”

After they shared a laugh, Poison stood up and tucked his sunglasses back in his pocket. He shook his head and smoothed his hair down with his hand. Kobra got the time from a passerby with a watch, and they decided to head over to the lunch counter before a line started to form. Poison’s legs were shaky and weak at first, but his strength started to return after a few minutes of walking in the sun.

When they stepped inside the squat rectangular building, they found only three other people lined up at the counter. The walls were made of ridged aluminum sheets, and the floor was smooth concrete. Poison took off his sandals and held them in his left hand while they waited, enjoying the cool stone against his bare feet. The entrances were wide open spaces big enough to drive a car through, and several tables were scattered across the floor. People sat down and took their lunches out of boxes and brown paper bags: stringy meat on sticks, canned food, wrinkled fruits, packaged Better Living foods. One woman held a wriggling child in her lap and fed it goopy baby food. A teenage boy pressed a button on a Better Living vending machine that stood in the corner, and something dropped into the slot at the bottom. He grabbed it and hurried off.

A clock on the wall above the counter read 11:37, beneath a sign with the words _ONLY 300 LUNCHES AVAILABLE: FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE_. The line behind Poison and Kobra grew as the minutes ticked past, and Poison felt pairs of eyes on the back of his head. He caught snatches of conversation that included his and his brother's names. Occasionally he and Kobra turned around and smiled, and the conversation immediately ceased. When the clock finally hit 12, a woman in an apron burst out of the kitchen doors behind the counter. She had curly red hair tied back in a bun with a few wavy strands hanging over her ears, and green clay earrings in the shape of hearts.

After the first three people received their meals, Poison stepped up to the counter. The customer leaving the counter, a tall Asian woman, clutched a white box with the Better Living logo stamped on the front. Poison swallowed, remembering the homemade sandwiches they’d served in previous years. _Maybe they just package the food in there now,_ he thought.

“Hello there,” the woman said. “Is he with you? Do you need two lunches?”

Poison stepped back and nodded. “Oh, yeah. He’s my brother.”

“I thought so. I noticed you two look alike. Okay, wait right there. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared through the kitchen doors, then reappeared a minute later with two white boxes. She placed them on the counter and punched two buttons on the cash register. “That’ll be four carbons,” she said.

“Wait,” Poison said. “Is that, uh...is that Better Living food?”

“Oh, Battery City donated some new cafeteria meals for us to test. There’s a comment card inside the box, so if you could just fill that out when you’re done--”

“Wait,” Kobra blurted out. “The city donated those?”

She paused. “That’s correct, sir.”

“How do you know--I mean--” He struggled to find the right words. “Look, how do you know they’re not poisoned?”

She broke out into a sympathetic smile. Kobra looked at her strangely. “Are you a rebel, sir?” she said kindly.

Kobra nodded. “Yeah. We both are.”

“I thought so. I noticed your funny hair. Well, we tested these very thoroughly before selling them to the public. We know you rebels and the city don’t get along. But the city wouldn’t jeopardize their relationship with us,” she added. “We supply a _lot_ of their fruit and vegetables. Almost ten percent.”

There was a pause.

“So that’ll be two meals?” the woman said, placing a hand on the stacked boxes. Her nails were painted red.

Poison looked at Kobra. He hesitated, then nodded.

“Yep,” Poison said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “How much? Four carbons?”

After they paid for their meals, Poison and Kobra sat down at a table and opened their boxes. Inside were smaller white boxes with identical Better Living stamps on the lids.

“This is like one of those nesting dolls,” Kobra said. “You think we’ll open smaller and smaller boxes, and inside the last one, there’ll be a single pill?”

Poison laughed. “That wouldn’t surprise me.”

Poison lifted the first box’s lid, half-expecting to find a pile of pills. But a warm, flavorful smell emitted from the box. His eyes widened when he saw the contents, and he quickly opened the rest of the boxes, then stared down at the meal in front of him. In the largest box was a piece of baked chicken peppered with seasoning, with a slice of lemon and a cup of pale gravy off to the side. Nestled beside the chicken was a jumble of roasted pepper, potato, and squash slices. One of the smaller boxes held a scoop of mashed potatoes with dark gravy, and the other held a frosted chocolate brownie. There was also a set of plastic utensils packaged with a napkin, salt and pepper packages, and a bottle of water.

Kobra was staring at his food with similar amazement. “Oh man,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll even be able to eat all this.”

“We’ll have to save some of it,” Poison said. “Ghoul will freak out if we don’t bring him some anyway.”

“Yeah, we’d never hear the end of it. ‘ _I told you I should have gone! The Trans has enough room for three! I could have ridden in the trunk!_ ’”

Poison chuckled, then unwrapped his utensils, drizzled the gravy over the chicken, and started to eat. The chicken was slightly bland, but soft and warm, and the vegetables had a smoky taste as if they’d been cooked on a grill. The mashed potatoes were thick, and the gravy was strong and flavorful. Poison chewed slowly and sucked the flavor out of every bite, and washed it down with clear bottled water. Kobra ate at a similar pace. Neither of them spoke as they savored the meal. Occasionally Poison looked around and saw other patrons gobbling their food or eating distractedly while talking to someone, as if they ate like this every day.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Poison said forty minutes later, when Kobra closed the lid on his box.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve still got a third left. How about you?”

“I saved most of the vegetables and the brownie. Thought the vegetables would make a good campfire snack.”

“Sounds like a plan. We should try grilling some of our own one of these days.”

As Poison was closing the largest box, he noticed shiny grey strips glued to the inside. When Poison ran a finger across them, they were warm to the touch.

“Hey, they’ve got self-heating boxes,” Poison said.

“Hmm?”

“You see those grey strips?” Poison held the box out to Kobra and pointed out the strips. “Self-heating boxes. Just like that glass Ms. Mayweather had this morning.”

“Oh. Yeah. We should hang onto those boxes, man. Keep our food warm for us when we go on long trips.”

“They’d probably fetch a good price at Chow Mein’s, too,” Poison said.

“Yeah, he loves this city stuff. Wonder how long those strips last.”

Poison started to place the box back in the container, then stopped. Something made of clear plastic glittered in the corner. He picked it up and studied it. It was a package of six pills: one white, one filled with gold liquid, one hot pink, one pale green, one orange and white, and one light blue. Two of the pills were round, and the rest were cylindrical. Tucked in the corner of the container along with the comment card was a pamphlet that read _A Guide To Your Free Medication Sample._

__“What’s that?” Kobra said. Poison held out the pills. Kobra studied them for a moment, then wordlessly searched his own box until he found an identical set of pills.

“What, are they using us as lab rats?” Kobra said.

“It’s a free sample,” Poison said, holding up the pamphlet. “Trying to get us hooked, I guess.”

Kobra stared down at the little package in his hand. “You think they snuck some into our food?” he said.

The thought had already crossed Poison’s mind, but he pushed it down. “I doubt it,” he said. “If they did that, they wouldn’t have given us these pills separately.”

“Maybe it’s to distract us. Or to get us hooked even more, now that we’ve already--”

“ _Kid_. Stop it. They didn’t put anything in the food. The girl at the counter said they tested it all.”

Kobra’s hands were starting to shake. “I knew we shouldn’t have eaten this stuff,” he said. “I didn’t want to argue, and I was starving, but I knew there’d be trouble, you can’t trust those fucking goons--”

“ _Kobra,”_ Poison said sharply. Kobra looked at him fearfully, and Poison clasped his hand in both of his. “Kid. Listen to me. There is nothing in the food. They tested it before selling it. You know that. They know that we’re not friendly with Battery City, they’re not going to give city food to Killjoys before checking it out first.”

Kobra still had a panicked look in his eyes.

“All right, look. Worst case scenario, they put something in the food. You’ll probably feel a little weird for a day or two, but that’s it. They’re not going to put anything in there that would kill you. They wouldn’t risk their trade with this place just to kill off a few Killjoys. They know the neutrals are going to be eating this stuff, too.”

Kobra laughed harshly. “You think they care about that--”

“No, but they care about making money, and if Golden Valley stops trading with them, they’ll lose ten percent of their harvest. And if St. Andrew’s and that place up in Zone Six, Freyja Falls or whatever, gets wind of this, they’ll stop trading with them, too. That’s a fourth of their food supply, gone.”

A thoughtful look slowly started to appear on Kobra's face.

“It’ll be okay, Kid,” Poison said, squeezing his hand. “Come on, let’s see what these stupid pills even do.” He released Kobra’s hand and picked up the pamphlet. “The white one’s a ‘mood stabilizer,’ the gold one’s a vitamin, the green one’s for headaches, there’s a heartburn reliever, a painkiller, and an antibiotic.” He folded the pamphlet and placed it back in the box. “There you go. Nothing bad.”

“But they could have used _different_ pills--”

“Oh, stop it.”

Kobra smiled weakly. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay. I know you’re still anxious.” Poison patted his hand, then closed the lid on his box. He waited until Kobra’s breathing slowed and his hands stopped shaking. After several minutes, Kobra rubbed his hand across his face and spoke.

“You know, a lot of people just throw away those boxes,” he said weakly. “I’ve been watching them. They just dump ‘em in the trash.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. How much do you think we could see those things for?”

Poison raised his eyebrows. “You want to dig around in the trash and get them?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s free cash. Tommy’ll probably give us a few carbons for them.”

Poison’s refusal was at the tip of his tongue, but an image suddenly flashed in his mind: Poison standing in front of a grimy sink, scrubbing a pan with a bristle brush. Beads of sweat formed on his face, and he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead for a moment, then returned to scrubbing. His stringy hair hung in front of his face, and he wore a stained white apron and a blue shirt with the sleeves pushed up. Weariness had settled in his limbs, his head felt foggy, and his breathing was harsh. His cracked hands started to bleed, streams of red swirling down into the sink. For a moment, Poison continued scrubbing, then suddenly realized what he was doing and yanked the pot out of the water. He laid it dripping on the countertop, then leaned against the counter and cradled his sore hands. Poison swayed slightly on the spot. Then he grabbed a roll of bandages from beneath the sink, tore a strip off with his teeth, and wound the gauze around his injured hand, picked up the pot and brush, and went back to scrubbing. The only employee in the kitchen of Fireball Foods, the last restaurant in Zone One. Ten P.M. on a chilly November night. All so he could scrape up enough carbons to buy fuel for their tiny heater.

A few minutes later, Poison and Kobra were digging boxes out of the trash can near one of the entrances. Many of the boxes were too crushed, dented, or stained to be used, but they found six that looked sellable with a little washing. Several boxes were smeared with globs of half-eaten food, which made Poison sick to his stomach. Enough wasted food to feed a dozen Killjoys.

“We’ll throw it in the compost pile,” Poison said when he saw a similar ill expression on Kobra’s face. They scraped the uneaten food into one of the dented boxes. Several people stared at them, but Poison ignored them. It couldn’t have been the first time they’d seen Killjoys digging in the garbage.

After hurrying back to the Trans Am to lock the boxes in a cooler in the trunk, they ventured further out into the market. They weaved their way through the packed crowd and explored new shops that had sprung up after last year’s market, including a natural remedies shop full of leafy plants, baskets of roots, and bottles of liquid, and a shopping cart crammed with scavenged beauty products, including grimy bottles of nail polish, dented cans of hairspray, and half-empty tubes of toothpaste that were curled up and crusted with sand. The seller, a girl with tangled hair and a smear of mud on her face, repeatedly pressed a bottle of red nail polish into Poison’s hand--“Come on, it matches your hair!”--until he bought it out of guilt.

As Poison stepped away from the cart, Kobra pointed at a building across the street. “Look at that,” he said. “I think they stole your symbol.”

A round wooden sign hung from the roof of a pale yellow building with cracked windows and a screened-in porch. Sloppily painted on the sign was a cylindrical pill with an X beneath it.

“Are you kidding me?” Poison said. “That’s my logo!”

“Better go in there and lay down the beatdown,” Kobra said.

“I’ve gotta check this out,” Poison said, stepping toward the building. “There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe it’s a Poison fan store,” Kobra said as he followed him. “They might not let you leave, dude. Might want to stuff you and display you in the window.”

“Well, as long as they don’t make my hand wave, I’m okay with it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Poison pushed open the door, almost expecting to see racks of imitation Party Poison jackets and a shelf of Party Poison dolls. But the shop was lined with shelves that held glass jars in various sizes. At first glance, Poison thought the jars were full of candy. But when he looked closer, he recognized the sizes, shapes, and medicinal colors. There was every pill from the sample package and more: round pills, cylindrical pills, hexagonal pills, square pills, solid pills, liquid-filled pills, white pills, green pills, pink pills, yellow pills, multi-colored pills, and even one jar of pills that were pure black. Some jars held loose pills, and others held pill cards with foil and plastic bubbles. Labels had been glued on the jars with names like _PAINKILLERS_ and _MOOD STABILIZERS,_ with the Better Living logo printed on the side.  
  
“Excuse me,” someone said. Poison turned to see an Asian woman with shoulder-length black hair smiling at him from the counter. “You’re Party Poison, right?”  
  
He smiled back. “Yeah, I am. And this is my brother, Kobra Kid,” he added, stepping back and patting his shoulder. Kobra smiled faintly at her. “We saw that logo outside, and--”  
  
Laughing, she stepped out from behind the counter. “I know. Everyone thinks you work here. We get confused people in here every week, asking about you. During the market, we get about a dozen people a day, especially with so many Killjoys around.”  
  
“I was thinking it might be a fan shop,” Kobra said.  
  
She laughed politely. “I’m sorry for the confusion,” she said. “My husband chose this logo when we started this store about six months ago. He said that he saw it on a flier. Of course, we had no idea how famous it really was.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Poison said. “Do you get a lot of Killjoys out here?”  
  
“No, not many. The most we get is during the market week. I hear a lot of them go to Freyja Falls. And, of course, a lot of them try to break into St. Andrew’s.”  
  
“That’s right. I heard they toughened up security out there after a couple of Killjoys got in.”  
  
“I heard that, too.”  
  
There was a pause. To cover the awkwardness, Poison placed his hands on his hips and pretended to examine the store.  
  
“Well, look around as much as you want,” the woman said. “I know you Killjoys aren’t big on pills, but it never hurts to have an emergency stock.”  
  
Poison smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you,” he said as she returned to her place behind the counter. She flipped open a notebook on the countertop and studied it closely, running the tip of a pencil down the page. She flipped to the next page, her brow furrowed in concentration.  
  
Poison and Kobra approached one of the shelves and pretended to study the pills. The pale blue painkillers caught Poison’s eye. _It’d be nice to have a stock of those,_ he thought before he could stop himself.  
  
“What do you think those black ones do?” Kobra said. “They look like suicide pills.”  
  
“Could be,” Poison said, tearing his eyes away from the painkillers. “Or maybe they’re mind wipe pills. Cherri told me they were working on those a while back.” _Pepper_ was the code name for Cherri, a former double agent, when they were in public.  
  
“Oh yeah? Maybe they’re not even pills. Maybe they’re miniature bombs.”  
  
“Excuse me,” said the woman at the counter. “Those are veterinary pills. They’re for sick dogs.”  
  
Poison blinked, then smiled sheepishly. The woman smiled politely in return.  
  
“Man,” Kobra whispered as they turned back to the shelves. “Who would’ve seen that coming?”  
  
Poison was about to respond when the door swung open. They looked up to see a man with scruffy blonde hair and stubble walking through the doorway. He wore a dark blue jacket with silver studs dotted across the front like stars. Poison’s stomach dropped. _Oh God, no, it can’t be, there’s no way..._ He instinctually pushed Kobra back and stepped in front of him, his heart pounding.  
  
The man turned around, and a silver crescent moon shone in the center of the studs on the back of his jacket. Every nerve in Poison’s body blared an alarm. Waves of panic surged through him as memories flashed through his mind of Kobra sitting in a green motel room, with his eyes red-rimmed and blood crusted around his nose; Kobra jerking upright on his mattress after a nightmare, shaking violently; Poison frantically calling Kobra’s transmitter and praying for him to pick up...  
  
“Hello,” the woman said with a faint look of concern on her face.  
  
“Hi,” the man said in a dull voice. He walked past her and headed straight for the shelves. Poison didn’t move, his eyes darting over to the door. Kobra trembled behind him. _We could run for it, but then he’ll know who we are, maybe he doesn’t recognize him without the jacket, shit, please, God, don’t let him recognize Kobra..._  
  
The man grabbed a jar of pills and roughly turned it around in his hands. The pills slid and rattled inside the jar. The woman at the counter looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. After shoving it back on the counter, he grabbed another jar and studied it.  
  
“How much for these?” he said.  
  
“The whole jar?” the woman said.  
  
“No, not the whole jar. Just a handful. How much for, like, a dozen?”  
  
“Six carbons, sir.”  
  
“Six? For a dozen?”  
  
She nodded uncomfortably. He sighed and pushed it back on the shelf, then grabbed another jar.  
  
“How much for these?”  
  
“Those are two for a carbon.”  
  
“The same price?” He groaned. “Christ. They’ve got pills at Albertina for half this price.”  
  
She didn’t respond. He shook his head, staring down at the jar in his hand. “This is bullshit,” he said to Poison. “You should get out of here, get your pills somewhere else. Hey. Wait,” he said, turning to face Poison. “You two are rebels, aren’t you? You look like rebels.”  
  
Poison took a deep breath, his lips trembling. “Yeah,” he said shakily.  
  
“That’s what I figured. What are you doing out here? Thought twinks like you didn’t take pills.”  
  
“We--” Poison rubbed his face with his hand. “We’re just looking around.” His voice was strained.  
  
The man nodded once. “You sure you’re not hear to get pills behind everyone’s backs?”  
  
“No,” Poison said.  
  
“Uh-huh. What do you say, Blondie? Is he telling the truth?”  
  
Poison turned and glanced at Kobra, wide-eyed. Kobra was pale as the mood stabilizer pills, and his hands shook. “I’m telling the truth,” Poison said to the man.  
  
“I’m asking him. Is he telling the truth, Blondie?”  
  
Kobra stared at him numbly.  
  
“What’s your deal? Is he a wave-head? Did you take a few too many blasts of radiation?”  
  
“No,” Kobra said quickly. “No, I--God. He’s telling the truth.” He looked away, his voice strained.  
  
The man stared at him. “What the hell is wrong with you two?” he said. “Christ, no wonder Killjoys don’t last long out here. Bunch  of chickenshits.” Shaking his head, he marched up to the counter and dropped the jar in front of the woman. “Give me a dozen of these.”  
  
“Sir, those are two a c--”  
  
“Yeah, I know how much they cost. Just give them to me before I change my mind.”  
  
After the man had grudgingly slapped six carbons on the desk, the woman poured a dozen pills into a small plastic cup. He snatched the cup out of her hands, pulled off the lid, and popped one of the pills and crunched it while he stormed out of the door. The woman let out a heavy sigh, then started screwing the lid back on the jar.  
  
Behind Poison, Kobra let out a series of shaky gasps. Poison turned around to see him shaking with tears brimming in his eyes. He clasped his hands to his mouth. Poison wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Kobra clung to him like a frightened child. Poison rubbed his back and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
“It’s okay, kiddo,” he said. “It’s okay. Come on. Let’s just get back to the car.”  
  
He placed an arm around Kobra’s shoulders and started to lead him outside, Kobra wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. Before they reached the door, the woman stood up.  
  
“Wait!” she said. “What’s going on? Who was that guy?”  
  
Poison paused, thinking hard. “He’s nobody,” he said. “It’s just--we had a run-in with a member of his gang a few months back. Kobra got hurt pretty bad.”  
  
“The Blue Moons? The Blue Moons usually aren’t violent. Just obnoxious.”  
  
“No, it was a different group of Crescents--the Blood Moons.”  
  
“The Blood Moons? Oh my goodness!”  
  
Poison nodded, his mouth a thin line. “Yeah, they, uh--they wanted to send a message. So they took Kobra. Kept him for a few days, beat him up, then left him in a motel room.”  
  
“They wanted to use me as an example,” Kobra said, his eyes still watery. “Trying to run us out of the desert. I interfered with their shit, I guess.” He turned and wiped his eyes on his wrist.  
  
“Oh my goodness. I’d heard they were violent. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Thanks,” Kobra said. “It’s funny--this is the first trip I’ve taken ever since then, and the second day we run into one of those guys.” He laughed harshly. “Guess the universe has it out for me.”  
  
After Poison and Kobra had taken their guns from the retrieval area and sat down in the Trans Am, neither of them moved for several minutes. The crowd continued to move past, giggling and chatting and occasionally pointing at the Trans Am as they entered the market.  
  
“Are you okay, kiddo?” Poison said finally.  
  
Kobra nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just--I can’t believe we saw that guy.”  
  
“Well, you were brave today. I’m proud of you.”  
  
Kobra laughed. “What did I do? You did all the talking. I just cowered behind you like a frightened puppy.”  
  
“You faced that guy down when he asked you a question.”  
  
“Yeah, while shaking like a little chickenshit.”  
  
“You’re not a chickenshit. That’s what he said. Stop it.”  
  
Kobra went silent. Poison reached out and placed a hand on his arm.  
  
“I mean it, Kid. I’m proud of you.”  
  
Kobra paused, then smiled faintly at him. Poison smiled back.  
  
“Ready to get out of here?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m ready to crash in that bed for a few hours.”  
  
“It’s nice, huh?”  
  
“It’s amazing. It’s like sleeping on a marshmallow.”  
  
Poison switched on the engine and pulled out into the road. The digital clock on the radio read _1:37 P.M._ About a dozen cars were lined up outside the gate, and more people had appeared on foot. They drove past three people on bicycles, one woman on a grey pony, a girl sitting on a desert tortoise, a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of scrap metal, and three children being pulled in a wagon by their mother. A blue-haired man walking along the side of the road waved at Poison. It was Cool Blue, a Killjoy who owned a water purification system. Poison smiled and waved back.  
  
The towns still bustled with activity, but many people were now performing chores while they watched the crowds, like sweeping off porches or washing clothes in iron buckets. A girl in a white dress fed a goat grain from her hand. A couple of cameras flashed as the Trans Am drove by, and several people stopped their activities to watch them pass. Some people on their way back from the market had stopped to chat with the townspeople and show off their goods. One woman unrolled a quilt she had tucked under her arm, and the family gasped in awe.  
  
When they drove past two women grilling meat over an oil drum, the taste of the grilled chicken flooded Poison’s mouth. Was that how the inbetweeners lived? Poison had witnessed a trade exchange years ago when he and Kobra lived near St. Andrew’s, then a tiny town whose farmland yielded about a dozen baskets of vegetables per year. Poison had stopped by the gas station to buy fuel, and saw workers loading baskets of scrawny carrots and soft tomatoes into a truck. He came back a week later and crouched behind the gas station, hoping to see what Better Living had brought. A white van with the Better Living logo cruised up the dirt road and parked in front of the supply shack. The driver stepped out, followed by a Draculoid that Poison assumed was his bodyguard, and unlocked the back of the van. They took out two blankets, a toolbox, a stack of clothing, and four meals arranged on a black Styrofoam plate and covered with plastic wrap. Poison thought of the shreds of rabbit meat he and Kobra had eaten for dinner the previous night, and the thin sheet they shivered beneath at night, and for the first time, seriously considered becoming an inbetweener.  
  
 _Too late now,_ he thought as he cruised down the highway. Their records were too tarnished to register with the city. But they could be unofficial inbetweeners. Find work in Golden Valley, live there for a while, keep their heads down, and maybe they could be granted an exception, maybe even be allowed to enter St. Andrew’s, who did more trade with the city than anyone...  
  
“Kobra,” Poison said softly.  
  
Kobra turned away from the window. “Yeah?”  
  
“Uh...I know this is going to sound like a silly question, but...do you think I take care of you?”  
  
“What? Yeah. Of course you do.”  
  
“You don’t get hungry? Or cold?”  
  
“Well, I do, but it’s nothing I can’t manage.”  
  
Poison glanced at Kobra, then looked away.  
  
“What? What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. It’s just--” Poison rubbed his face with his hand. “Aren’t you tired of struggling to survive?”  
  
“Is this about last winter?”  
  
“No, it’s not just last winter, it’s all the time. Look at those inbetweeners, Kid. They throw food away like it’s nothing. Meanwhile, I’m working overtime shifts at some shitty restaurant and you’re sifting through trash heaps just so we don’t freeze to death.”  
  
“That was a while ago. It’s over now.”  
  
“No, it’s not over. It’s never over.”  
  
Kobra’s expression became concerned. “Poison, are you okay?”  
  
“No, I’m not okay!” Tears started to prickle in his eyes. “Nothing’s okay, Kid! It’s been one disaster after another since day one! You’re kidnapped and beaten by thugs, we’re freezing and starving and barely scraping by, and everything’s falling apart!”  
  
“All right. Pull over. Quick.”  
  
Poison pulled over to the side of the road, switched off the engine, and buried his face in his hands. Kobra silently rubbed his back while he choked and gasped with shaking sobs. He sobbed uncontrollably, not like the quiet tears he’d shed in the kitchen of Fireball Foods, but like someone who did not care anymore. Relief washed over his body as the frustration poured out of him like water from a faucet. Hot tears streamed down his face and soaked his hair and shirt collar. Eventually his sobs began to ease, and he leaned against his seat and wiped his face with the yellow bandana Kobra handed him from the glove compartment.  
  
“Thanks,” he said a mushy voice, pushing the wet hair behind his shoulders and away from his neck.  
  
“No problem,” Kobra said. “Feeling better now?”  
  
“Yeah.” He sniffled loudly, then checked his reflection in the review mirror. His eyes were flushed red and watery, his face was wet, and the ends of his hair were soaked as if he’d run a mile. He gave a watery laugh. “Wow. I look like a nightmare.”  
  
“Want to walk around outside before we get back on the road?”  
  
Poison nodded, then unsnapped his seatbelt and stepped out of the car. Kobra followed him, and they stood next to the road. Hot grains of sand wormed their way into Poison’s sandals and between his toes, and he shifted his feet to knock them out. The breeze was cool against his wet face, and a refreshed feeling settled over him.  
  
“Do you ever wonder if we should become inbetweeners?” Poison said.  
  
“We can’t,” Kobra said gently. “Not with our records.”  
  
“No, not registered ones. Unofficial ones. We could do it. I asked Cherri about it.”  
  
“You talked to Cherri about this?” Kobra’s brow furrowed in concern.  
  
“Yeah. So what do you think? Do you ever think about it?”  
  
Kobra paused, and his gaze fell to the sand beneath his feet. “Yeah,” he said finally, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up at the sky. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. But we can’t do it. If we become inbetweeners, we might as well hand over our guns and march back to the city.”  
  
“Not all inbetweeners support the city. Most of Mint Jelly doesn’t.”  
  
“Yeah, and they don’t do any trade with them, meaning that they’re just as bad off as we are.”  
  
“We’re kind of helping the city already. You know? Buying from Golden Valley.”  
  
“Yeah, but we don’t really have a choice, do we?” Kobra said softly. “It’s not the same as ditching the Killjoys and going to live with them. We’re just doing what we have to do to survive.”  
  
Poison balled up the bandana in his fist and wrapped his arms around himself, swaying slightly. Kobra stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm.  
  
“Are you going to be okay?” he said quietly.  
  
Poison nodded. Kobra leaned forward and looked him dead in the eyes.  
  
“Look, don’t tell the guys I said this, but I’m not saying it’ll never happen,” he said. “If things get worse than they were last winter, we might have to go the neutral route. I don’t know. But don’t give up hope yet. Okay? There’s still a lot of good we can do out here.”  
  
Poison nodded half-heartedly, and Kobra studied him for a moment.  
  
“All right, let me tell you something. I heard that Melody and Ms. Mayweather talking in the kitchen when I got up to pee last night, and I thought I heard them say our names, so I stopped for a second. Then Melody said it amazed her that you and me were still together, because she knew someone who ditched his grandfather when he started having memory issues. Just told him to go into a gas station to get some bread and left him there. She said there are people who have ditched family members even at my age or younger, because they became a liability.”  
  
Something caught in Poison’s throat. He pressed a hand to his mouth, and his eyes started to well up again.  
  
“But you’re different. You never left me, even when I was having panic attacks so bad I couldn’t leave the diner. You can survive anything out here, because no matter how bad it gets, you never lose sight of yourself. The Zones need you, Poison. A lot of people would have dropped me off at a gas station and driven off a long time ago.”  
  
Poison’s vision grew blurry again. He reached for Kobra, and they wrapped their arms around each other and held each other for a long time. The breeze ruffled their clothes and blew sand across Poison’s feet, but he barely noticed.  
  
“Love you, man,” Kobra said when they separated.  
  
“Love you, too, Kid,” Poison said.  
  
He stuffed the bandana in his pocket and headed back to the car.


End file.
